Never Been All Right
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Cordano... Romano knows he's never been all right... but what he doesn't know is that's all about to change.
1. Trying to Make it go Away

Kay, I don't own `em... if I did, Romano would still be alive. So, obviously, I don't.  
  
Well, this sort of just came to me while I was thinking about how hungry I was. I think y'all will be able to figure out who it's about (but I'll put it in my summary nonetheless). Two surgeons that we all know are destined to be together. : )  
  
Please Review!!! It makes me feel happy.  
  
~Natalie~ *********************************************************** He sat in the dark on a rather comfortable leather chair drinking a beer. He hated beer. He absodamnlutely hated it. Despised it to no end. But, it was the only alcoholic beverage in his refrigerator. So, he bit the bullet, and drank it. Anything to get his mind off of what it had currently been determined to settle on. Her. Of course it would be her, everything that ran through his mind was always about her. Always, no matter what. There was nothing he could do to stop it, it was inevitable that it would return to the same topic, but alcohol tended to get his mind off of that burning subject for awhile at least. And simply because he didn't have any bourbon left didn't mean that he was going to let his mind wander freely over her. 'No siree Bob' he thought amusedly to himself, no pun intended.  
  
And so he sat there, drinking a god-awful substance trying to make everything all right again.  
  
He tried to remember a time when everything had been all right. It, he decided, didn't exist. There really hadn't been a time when things had been all right. Not for him, at least. Sure, there were the ups and the downs. There were good days and bad ones. But nothing had ever been all right, and he didn't think that it could be. He'd tried to make it all right through meaningless sex with women he'd never see again, but it hadn't worked. He always knew that it wouldn't work. But, he didn't have anything better to do, so he'd tried it. Oh Lord how he'd tried it. He'd tried it again and again and again, but it never made anything better, let alone all right.  
  
He'd long since given up on love. And sex. So, the only thing he had left was alcohol. He wasn't addicted; he could stop if he needed to. But, why would he? He wasn't going to quit something that momentarily eased the pain. That was just stupid. And, though he was many other things, stupid he was not. At least in some ways.  
  
He wasn't perfect, he knew that. Maybe that's what she wanted though. Maybe if he were perfect she would love him. He scoffed at his own foolishness. 'That, my friend,' he said to himself, 'is the alcohol talking.' He had forgotten the negative effects alcohol had on him, like false hope. He had forgotten the fact that it often made him delusional enough to believe a woman such as her could love a man like him.  
  
He petted the sleeping beast beside him with a lazy hand. She was the only female in his life. She was the only one that cared about him. And even she was a bitch.  
  
The beer wasn't working. Perhaps it was the sour taste, or the fact that only people in trailers drank it, but it wasn't helping him tonight. Just his luck. He couldn't get his mind off of her. What was she doing? Was she laughing? Was she crying? Was she having meaningless sex with some stranger? Was she on her way over to his house to confess her undying love? 'On second thought, that beer is working' just not in the way he had hoped. It was furthering the delusions he saved for his dreams.  
  
He wasn't naïve enough to think his thoughts at this point held any merit whatsoever. He knew that it wasn't possible. But, he didn't mind pretending it was. In the solace of his mind and in the hollows of his heart he could pretend. He could pretend that she loved him, that she wanted him, and that she even needed him.  
  
And to fill the empty void in his soul, tattered by too much sorrow to bear, he could pretend that everything would be all right.  
  
But, it was the empty part of him that knew it could never be so. It was the part that kept his defenses up that told him that nothing would be all right. It wasn't in his fate, his stars, his destiny... whatever the hell you wanted to call it... it just wasn't there.  
  
But he could pretend it was.  
  
And that's the only way he made it through the days. And that's the only way he made it through the lonely nights.  
  
No one saw him as a pretender, and as a general rule, he wasn't. But when the nights got too lonely he turned to his imagination. He turned to the illusion that she could love him. That she did love him. He knew it was unhealthy, but so is walking down the street in Chicago. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore... except her. She was, in essence, the only reason he was alive.  
  
Not because she would miss him if he were gone, but because he lived to see her. To hear her voice was the only reason he got out of bed in the morning.  
  
But he never showed it.  
  
He never showed the passion he felt so deep in his heart. He was too tired of being hurt, too angry at God, or the gods, or Allah... he didn't know who, and he didn't much care. He was pissed. Maybe he should be angry at the devil, it seemed as though he was the only one that could possibly be responsible.  
  
Yeah, he hadn't made wonderful choices in his life, but the best choice he ever made was falling for her, though it wouldn't get him anywhere. It was a good choice because she gave him something to live for.  
  
He sighed and finished off the beer. He hated feeling like this. He hated sulking in his never-ending sorrows in the middle of the night. He hated feeling worthless, he hated feeling useless, and he hated feeling utterly insignificant to the world.  
  
He remembered a song from Les Miserables, Jean Valjean, he believed... it said something like "For I have come to hate this world... this world that always hated me." And that's exactly how he felt. He hated the world. He hated the world because it'd never done anything to make him feel anything other than pain. And he hated it with a burning passion. But, what was he thinking comparing his life to that of Jean Valjean? Everything was okay for him in the end. Everything was just dandy. He wasn't bound by chains; he got to be with his love... whatshername... Fantine... He had love.  
  
And what did he have? He had nothing.  
  
Contrary to popular belief, he was a normal kid. He had hopes and dreams for the future. He wanted to fall in love, get married, have 2.5 kids, and live in a little house with a white picket fence as much as the next guy.  
  
He never wanted to become the way that he was. In fact, he never even imagined he could become the way he was. He thought he'd have the perfect life. He thought he'd be happy, he thought he'd be satisfied. But he'd long since realized that those childish dreams weren't ever going to come true.  
  
He believed he was destined forever to be the lonely man that everyone hated. And he had come to terms with that. Yeah, it still pissed the hell out of him, angered him to no end... but he had come to deal with it. He was fine with it.  
  
Until she came along.  
  
He thought he was beyond those dreams, he thought he had moved past what he wanted so desperately so long ago.  
  
He was completely wrong.  
  
She had awakened those dreams inside him. He didn't dream about one night of passion with her. No, not with her. With her, it was different. In his dreams, he saw himself married to her. He saw himself loving her. It was something he'd never let himself do; love someone. But with her, it was different. Everything was so different when she was involved. He saw himself being with her forever.  
  
But he knew that would never happen.  
  
She saw him as an abomination. As a waste of human flesh. And who could blame her? Hell, that was how he saw himself. That's how everyone saw him. And they were right. He was a complete waste of God's time, of human flesh, of molecules, of life. He was a waste.  
  
That's what he'd always be.  
  
But he somehow felt that if he could be with her that everything would work out. That he would be worth something. That he'd be more than a worthless body roaming the earth with no real purpose.  
  
But, again, he knew that was impossible. But in his mind, he saw them together and he was happy, even if only for a moment in time. And even if it could never be real, it gave him something... it gave him hope. Even if it was false hope. It gave him something to hold onto. "Hold on, when you feel like letting go... Hold on, it gets better than you know"... He'd heard that somewhere. He didn't know where, but he wished that it was true.  
  
He'd always felt like letting go. He felt like letting go now. But she was what kept him holding on.  
  
He loved her. There was no way around that. With every fiber of his being he loved her. He loved her every second of the day, every hour of the night. He loved her.  
  
He shook himself out of the reverie as he put the bottle of beer down. He thought that things would never be all right... that things would always remain as they were.  
  
But, people are always full of surprises, and Robert Romano had more than a few coming his way.  
  
'Another wasted day' he thought as he walked upstairs to dream about the life he so desperately desired. 'Another wasted breath.'  
  
But it wasn't. It wasn't a wasted day; none of his days were wasted.  
  
And no breath he ever took was wasted.  
  
Because something was bound to happen that would give his life meaning...  
  
And there was only one thing that could do that.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
There's more to come. I'm sort of "winging" this one though. So, I don't know where it's going.  
  
Let me know what you think!!!  
  
"Les Miserables" I don't own, of course (I've just performed in it). And The quote "Hold on when you feel like letting go... Hold on it gets better than you know" is From Good Charlotte, not me. Just letting you know.  
  
Author's Note: I know nothing about alcohol. I've never tasted it (except ONCE when my friends tricked me on New Year's Eve, it was a chocolate thing that (I guess) had alcohol in it, some sort of Raspberry stuff. But, that's the only alcohol I've ever had, so ummm... sorry if beer actually tastes good or something. (and if you drink it, please don't be offended by the "trailer" comment... it was Romano talking)  
  
~Natalie~ Pleaseeee Review! 


	2. Sacrifice for Success

I'd forgotten about this story, essentially... but I hope that y'all like it... and REVIEW it... because that would just make me so ecstatic!!  
  
~Natalie~  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
'Sonofabitch' he thought as he rolled out of bed the next morning. Yet another reason he hated beer with a burning passion: the way it made him feel in the morning. He felt like hell. Utter and complete hell. And, that's how he looked, too. But he didn't give a damn.  
  
Today was just another day. A pointless day during which he would walk around dreaming about the one thing he could never have. But, that was fine with him. He hadn't anything better to do.  
  
So off he went to work.  
  
He saw her there, of course, the most beautiful woman in the world, though she said she felt like hell too. It didn't matter what she FELT like, she would always be beautiful. She would always be wonderfully wonderful in his eyes; she would always be the greatest creature to have ever walked the earth.  
  
He cursed his dreams as he thought those last thoughts. He hated being in love. It would be so much easier if he could just hate her. But he couldn't. That was yet another impossibility in Robert Romano's life. It was just another shitty thing that he couldn't change. He couldn't change his love for her; he couldn't change his hate for himself: His hate for himself at loving her. Why couldn't he just keep his mind away from these dangerous thoughts pervading his mind that would inevitably break his heart?  
  
'Because,' he thought, 'that would just be too damn easy.'  
  
So he worked all day. He'd heard a song that talked about building a kingdom of sand. That's what he felt as though he had. All he had was a kingdom built with his own two hands, his sweat, his blood (literally), his tears – and it was made of sand. What good was his damn castle then? What good was his life's work? What good was everything he'd worked so damn hard for? It was worth nothing. It was worth nothing because he hated waking up every morning and thinking about the things he could never have, and he hated going to bed at night and dreaming about the things that would never have him.  
  
Elizabeth was the damn wind that made him realize all he had was a castle built of sand. Here she came with her British propriety, and dashingly beautiful looks and made him fall in love with her. She was the wind on his castle of sand. And he wanted so desperately to hate her for it. He wanted to hate her for making him realize that what he had was worthless... that everything he'd worked for was worthless.  
  
But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that he hated her, his heart always knew better. His soul always spoke the truth.  
  
He laughed at the irony. He could lie to everyone around him—even her, but he couldn't lie to himself. How ironic. How amazingly, stupidly, cunningly, annoyingly ironic. He could lie about anything at any given moment to any given person, yet he couldn't lie to himself. What's the use of the talent then?  
  
He aimlessly went about his business, performed surgery, did the work he'd come to love and hate simultaneously, saved lives, and went home. Because that's what he did. Everyday of his life, that's what he did.  
  
He didn't go out afterwards, searching for his lifetime companion. He'd found her... but she hadn't found him. And she never would.  
  
He didn't go out afterwards, drinking with friends. He had no friends. Except, yep, you guessed it, her.  
  
'Isn't that terribly sad?' He thought bitterly. He hadn't always been the coldhearted bastard that he was these days. No, there was a time when Robert Romano had plenty of friends. There was a time when he'd had friends coming out of his ass (not literally). There was a time when he'd had so many confidants he didn't know how he could possibly confide in them all.  
  
There was a time when he had been the life of the party. No matter what party it had been, he had been the very life of it.  
  
But, times had changed.  
  
He'd become a bitter man, an 'arrogant prick' is the phrase he'd heard used most often, and he had only one friend in the world. And even she hated him more than half of the time.  
  
But, that's the price one pays for being on top. For being successful, one must make sacrifices, and friendships, along with companionship, were two of the many sacrifices Robert Romano had made to be such a great surgeon, such a great Chief of Surgery, and such a great Chief of Staff.  
  
When he was younger, he thought he'd always be content to just be successful. He thought he'd always be content without anybody by his side. He'd spent so much time convincing himself that he didn't need anyone, that he'd let everyone that had ever cared for him slip out of his life unnoticed until it was too late. He'd told himself that every great man rose to the top by himself. And he didn't care when he noticed his friends had gone, moved on. He didn't care because he told himself that it didn't matter, that he didn't need them, and that all he needed was himself, his talents, and his goals. Because, THAT was just a price of success.  
  
But now, years and years later, after his friends had gone on to bigger and better things—together—he sat at home wondering if that really WAS the price of success.  
  
And he found himself wondering if it was worth it. He'd long ago though he'd always know the answer to that question. He'd always thought it would be yes. Success was worth sacrificing anything, no matter what.  
  
But now, he wasn't so sure.  
  
And he reached for the bourbon he'd stop to buy on the way home.  
  
He poured himself a glass and sat thinking back on the time when he'd thought he'd been all right... but knowing that it hadn't existed. It hadn't existed because the only human being he'd ever cared about was himself.  
  
And in actuality, that would have been fine. Theoretically, he could have lived the rest of his life in complete solitude, had his success, his big house, his jaguar, his money, and been perfectly content.... If he'd never learned what it was to love.  
  
He gasped as the realization dawned on him. It was because of her that he was so god awfully miserable. She had, unknowingly, taught him how to love. Damn her. Damn her all to hell!  
  
Without her, he'd be out having meaningless sex with some woman whose name he didn't even know.  
  
But, because of her, he was sitting alone, in his house, with a dog and a glass of liquor, lamenting the fact that he had no one to share his wealth with.  
  
Damn her!  
  
This revelation troubled him deeply, and he quickly downed the glass of Bourbon, and quickly poured himself another, and then another. Now, this wouldn't have been a problem, for Robert Romano knew how to hold his liquor, but he couldn't stop pouring the glasses. It was like this troubling revelation had possessed him. So he downed the present glass of Bourbon, and began pouring another...  
  
And another.  
  
Until he was drunk, not completely drunk, but certainly enough to loosen any ambitions he might have had. He hadn't been even remotely drunk in a very long time, but he didn't care. What did it matter? Alcohol was his only friend that didn't hate him half the time, and right now, it was the only friend here to console him. It comforted him... telling him lies, sweet little lies, furthering his delusions about her and the life he desperately desired, but also desperately desired not to desire.  
  
He thought back on the day previous, and how he had ended it thinking it was wasted.  
  
He vowed not to let that happen today as well.  
  
So he walked out into the cool Chicago air, the chill sobering him a little, and sat down on the steps.  
  
Could he do this?  
  
Hell yes, he could. With liquid courage, Romano could do anything he damn well pleased short of a crime.  
  
So, he began walking. He kept walking and walking, all the while running through what he should say in his head. He walked until he didn't want to walk anymore, and even then, he kept walking.  
  
Until finally he stood outside of his destination. He cautiously walked up the steps and stood in front of the door.  
  
What if she was with someone? He contemplated turning around and walking home right then, as he stared at the doorbell.  
  
'Oh, to hell with it' he thought as his hand reached out and pressed the bell down firmly.  
  
He heard it ring on the inside, and heard it followed by padded steps heading towards the door.  
  
The door opened, and there he saw her. The most beautiful woman in the world, standing at the door with pajama pants and slippers on, looking thoroughly confused to see him standing there, and even more confused to hear that he was saying nothing. He smiled lightly at her, and she barely returned the gesture.  
  
He heard her say something that sounded distinctly like "Robert", but he didn't care. It was his turn to talk, he assumed, so he braced himself to say what he had been longing to say for years. He opened his mouth, and out it poured.  
  
"Elizabeth Corday, I hate you!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Most definitely to be continued...  
  
Yeah, again, I'm just "winging" this one (I had to reread the first chapter to remember what I was even going for with it!), but it shouldn't be too long. In fact, it should be rather short... I'm only anticipating about two more chapters.  
  
However, you should still REVIEW it... cause it makes lil' ol' me happy!!!  
  
Thanks y'all!  
  
~Natalie~ 


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